"You cannot
realize, monsieur, what a blow would be dealt my uncle if... if
evil, irrevocable evil were to overtake his godson to-morrow. The
expressions that he used at first... "
"Mademoiselle, I perceived their true value. Spare yourself.
Believe me I am profoundly desolated by circumstances which I had
not expected to find. You must believe me when I say that. It
is all that I can say."
"Must it really be all? Andre is very dear to his godfather."
The pleading tone cut him like a knife; and then suddenly it aroused
another emotion - an emotion which he realized to be utterly
unworthy, an emotion which, in his overwhelming pride of race,
seemed almost sullying, yet not to be repressed. He hesitated to
give it utterance; hesitated even remotely to suggest so horrible
a thing as that in a man of such lowly origin he might conceivably
discover a rival. Yet that sudden pang of jealousy was stronger
than his monstrous pride.
"And to you, mademoiselle? What is this Andre-Louis Moreau to you?
You will pardon the question.
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